


Dawn is breaking

by lustig



Series: As Time Goes By [2]
Category: Casablanca (1942), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Casablanca Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, The Happy Fic, Tréville & Athos & Toiras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustig/pseuds/lustig
Summary: (“I will see you again when you come back to the Louvre, triumphant.”)It took them only a moment or two to gather side by side – as had become habit to them – and gaze north to the city lying below them. It looked incredibly peaceful, bathed in sunlight shining without the dark smoke plumes of burning homes and streets poisoning the sky.The war was over. And they were ready to return home.





	Dawn is breaking

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the follow-up work to [What are we living for](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12285885/chapters/27927978), my Trevilieu-retelling of Casablanca. If you haven't read that one, _Dawn is breaking_ is probably not making a lot of sense, so I'd be delighted if you'd check that one out first :-)  
>  Title from [Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t99KH0TR-J4), again. 
> 
> HUGE thanks to my super-lovely and awesome beta [Morven](http://donkey2323.tumblr.com/) who helped me clean up all the little errors and generally being the nicest beta one could ask for :-)
> 
> I apologise in advance for all the bad references and wish you all the fun with my story!
> 
> PS: None of the names is made up. Look 'em up if you want to ^.^

 

“Paris.”

 

“Paris. At long last,” Toiras chuckled lowly.

 

“Stop here, Marsac.”

 

The young soldier obeyed his General without hesitation, pulling over and shutting down the engine. The three men on the back seat shuffled out of the cramped car and stretched, groaning under their breath after the hour-long ride.

 

It took them only a moment or two to gather side by side – as had become habit to them – and gaze north to the city lying below them. It looked incredibly peaceful, bathed in sunlight shining without the dark smoke plumes of burning homes and streets poisoning the sky.

 

“Ha,” Treville rumbled, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth, “I must admit, I’d never have guessed I’d see that city again.”

 

“Me neither,” the great General at his side agreed. 

 

“I didn’t believe I’d ever see it. If that counts.”

 

“Course it does, Athos.”

 

“You’ll like it,” Treville added. “Full of good wine. If they haven’t drunk it all by now.”

 

“Or during Gaston’s rule. No one could bear that man for more than an evening before wishing for something stronger than watered red.”

 

“I never had the honour of meeting him, Toiras. They threw me out before he took over.”

 

“Be happy for it. I only met him twice, but that was two times too many, believe me. The man was a peacock. And that was on his better days.”

 

Athos sighed. “You do know I can’t join this glorious little tale telling of the life at Court, yes?”

 

“Sorry,” the two Jeans murmured as one. All three men fell silent, staring down at the city, less than an hour’s drive away now, after so long.

 

“It feels strange,” Toiras mused, “to think about that it’s all over now. The fighting, the blood, the tears.”

 

“I won’t miss it, though,” Treville added, “I saw enough lives wasted to last for more than one lifetime.”

 

“Their lives were not wasted; do not think of them like that. Their sacrifice would be in vain in your eyes. They died for a worthy cause.”

 

“I’m not only talking about _this_ war, Athos. I was a soldier before I became Captain. I was a general in _the other_ war. I thought I could spend my life on one battlefield or other, fighting for France, for my king –“

 

“For your Cardinal,” Athos smirked.

 

Treville glowered darkly. “I didn’t know him back then.”

 

“I understand what you mean, friend,” Toiras interrupted them, clasping one of his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “But let’s not argue on a day like this. We’re still a good way off, and our King awaits us.”

 

“Nah, if he really invited the whole of France to come and visit, he won’t realise if we’re missing.”

 

An elbow found its way into Treville’s side.

 

“Stop being an idiot. You saved his _life_ , have you forgotten that already? I bet he won’t start the ceremony, or whatever he has planned, before you’re there.”

 

“There’ve been plenty of people who saved his life over the last few years,” Treville muttered bitterly, rubbing his side.

 

“You’re afraid, a-aren’t you?” Toiras smiled a soft, non-soldier smile that made him look a younger, more boyish. “You’re afraid of what awaits you there.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But Treville’s tense jaw told another story.

 

“It’s not ridiculous,” Athos argued, quietly, “Neither of us has as much to win, nor as much to lose as you do today. You know that it’s okay to be afraid. Or you _should_ know, at least. You _taught_ me that being afraid on a battlefield is okay. This is just a battlefield, of a different kind, yes, but a battlefield nonetheless.”

 

He pulled Treville into a short, reassuring hug, before walking back towards the waiting car.

 

“You’ll be fine, Jean.” Toiras stepped past him, their shoulders brushing, his hand lingering for a moment on Treville’s chest. The old guardsman looked down, smiling and leaning into the confiding touch. He was blessed to have these two men by his side, as friends and as comrades.

 

His hand wrapped around the golden cross he had worn since that fateful December day four years ago, relishing in the rush of warmth he felt whenever he touched the trinket. He hadn’t heard from Richelieu once in these last years. He hadn’t tried to if he was honest. He hadn’t dared to. Not with both of them leading uncertain lives; not with both of them waiting for a tomorrow that might not have come.

 

“Treville? Are you coming?”

 

He blinked out of his thoughts and looked up, back to the two generals and the car, staring at him expectantly.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Paris was eerily silent.

 

It didn’t feel _dead_ or _abandoned_ , just… empty.

 

In a city that had been bustling with life the last time Treville had seen it, one rainy morning a lifetime ago – even if that activity couldn’t be compared to Casablanca – silence like this couldn’t mean any good.

 

It made his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

 

But the buildings still stood tall.

 

There was surprisingly little damage, less than either of the men had expected after reports of the war raging in the streets of the capital, the Red Guard against the Palace Guard that remained true to Treville.

 

 

 

Marsac drove them through the nearly lifeless streets next to the Seine, bringing them closer to the Louvre with every passing minute.

 

“I had expected your grand capital to be a tad more… inhabited,” Athos murmured, sounding somewhat disappointed yet still wary after they passed no more than a handful of people since leaving the Rue Nationale.

 

“It usually is,” Toiras offered, echoing Treville’s unspoken thoughts, “I’ve never seen it like this b-before. But look c-closely. Windows still stand open, there’s laundry hanging –”

 

He stopped, staring at the mass of people that had gathered inside and in front of _La Belle Aurore_ , one of the cafés along the Quai Saint-Bernard. Marsac slowed down, unable to drive on due to the crowd on the street. He honked once, twice, before the first man turned around, more confused than angry, and stepped out of the way, pulling another guy with him.

 

The street started to clear, but before they were able to pass the crowd one of the women gathered there pointed a finger at them, whispering something in the ear of her companion. Murmurs turned to shouts, growing until the men in the car could clearly make out their excited calls.

 

“Isn’t that General de Treville?”

 

“That’s Toiras!”

 

“Look, there’s the leader of the Moroccan troops, General de la Fère!”

 

“The heroes have returned home!”

 

“What do you think; will they meet our great king in person?”

 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Athos asked, confused.

 

“Marsac, wait here for a moment.” Treville opened the door while giving his order and stepped out of the car without waiting for acknowledgement. People gathered around him in seconds, crowding around the car and falling silent as fast as the commotion had begun in the first place. One or two reached for the former guardsman, touching the uniform reverently.

 

“It’s really him”, someone whispered, his voice full of devotion.

 

“Is there a reason why you have gathered here?” Treville asked, unfazed by the excited crowds.

 

“There’s not enough room near the Louvre to hold all of Paris, Sire,” a young man, probably in his late teens or early twenties, answered. “So His Royal Highness King Louis ordered _Paris Télévision_ to broadcast his speech live, so all of France could listen to his words!”

 

“And _La Belle Aurore_ has a television set of its own,” a woman added.

 

“His Great Highness  hasn’t started yet, but there’s already an image of the palace. I think he’s still waiting for something.”

 

“Probably for those three,” someone in the back murmured, obviously not meant to reach Treville’s ears but spoken in those rare moments when the whole group had been hushed for just a second or two.

 

Treville smiled.

 

Bowing his head to hide the amused grin, he turned back to the car and said with laughter in his voice, “Then we won’t keep him waiting any longer. Celebrate the victory as you want to, you certainly deserve it.”

 

When Marsac set off again, the crowd parted before them, and the people bowed to the generals, their faces filled with delight.

 

 

 

They passed one or two more café’s like _La Belle Aurore_ on their way to the palace, each time getting recognised within moments. But none of the groups were comparable to what awaited them after the second bridge to the _Île de la Cité_ , the magnificent Notre Dame to their right.

 

Athos stared at the cathedral, poorly hidden awe causing him to miss the first glimpse at the human mass.

 

Marsac slowed down, crawling through the crowds and stopped at last when the danger of driving somebody over became too great.

 

“I can’t go in there, Sires,” he apologised, “There’s just too many people.”

 

There were speakers on every lamppost, every street sign down the Quai and the crowds had gathered around them, bustling and chattering like the best bazaar days of Casablanca.

 

With a sigh, Toiras opened the door.

 

“It’s fine. We’ll go the rest of the way ourselves. It’s only a fifteen minutes’ walk, besides. Thank you, _Sergent_.“

 

Treville and Athos followed him, gathering by his side.

 

They started to head towards the mass of people, slow yet deliberate, Toiras left and Treville right, Athos between them.

 

Athos remained dubious of the success of them getting to the Louvre; especially as the crowd grew thicker as they approached the palace.

 

They had no need to worry, though.

 

As soon as the people saw their uniforms or recognised them, often even both, they parted like the sea before Moses, greeting them with respect and cheers, thanking them, praising them, touching them, _welcoming_ them.

 

There was not a citizen who sneered at them. Not a single one.

 

When the grand balcony, nestled between the two grand staircases, finally came into view nearly half an hour had passed.

 

They stopped there, in the middle of the human mass that stretched around the Louvre and into the surrounding streets, looking up at the palace along with the crowd. The excited calls around them died down, and a strange, expectant hush fell over the citizens of Paris.

 

The balcony doors opened. The silence was deafening.

 

For a moment or two, nothing happened.

 

Then, finally, His Royal Highness, King Louis XIII of France stepped out.

 

As he spread his arms, the thundering applause roared louder than the sound of the cannons, louder than the cries of the dying, louder than the fear that had gathered in their hearts under Gaston’s reign.

 

And Louis smiled.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

“Paris,” his voice echoed above them after the cheers had finally died down, familiar and beloved like an old song. “France.”

 

He closed his eyes and exhaled, long and slow.

 

“It is good to be home.”

 

Louis raised his head again and let his gaze travel over the assembly.

 

“I spent more than four years abroad, some of this time on the run but most of it in America. Yet _not a day_ has passed where I did not think of you!” His voice rose as he stepped forward, closer to the microphone. A soft breeze caught in his dark hair, letting it dance in tune to the melody of his words.

 

“My people,” he continued, voice full of emotion. “ _My people!_ ”

 

Another round of applause rose, roaring and thundering, while Louis stood there, his arms outstretched, his gaze generous.

 

It took a moment or two for the crowds to calm down enough to let the king continue. Richelieu had appeared on the balcony during the first sentences, but no one had taken any note of him. They were hung instead on every word of the royal.

 

“I invited you here today, to Paris – to the Louvre – to celebrate the final defeat of my tyrant brother Gaston, who had oppressed you over the past years with the Grands of the South and his hired guns, yet with no right or reason and without the knowledge of what gives our beautiful country her heart and her strength – _you_. Her _people_.

 

“I want to celebrate with you the defeat of the Lords by the hands of their subjects. I want to celebrate with you the utmost loyalty you all have showed me, especially over these last few years. I want to celebrate with you the love we share for our country, for our homeland, for our freedom. I want to celebrate with you how we _united_ against those usurpers! How we organised our rebellion in secret yet directly under their noses! How we fooled them and fought them and _finished_ them at last!”

 

Cheers exploded in the crowd, cries of triumph.

 

“None of where we stand here today would have been possible without _every single one_ of you!” Louis shouted into the rising exclamations of delight.

 

Then he fell silent, his face closing like a curtain; a shadow had fallen over it. The audience followed suit, the noise dying down.

 

“And I am incredibly grateful for this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “When I left Paris all those years ago, shamefully cast away by my own brother to rot and die in the Bastille, broken and betrayed, I wasn’t even able to _dream_ anymore of the day I’d reclaim my throne, my title, my _country_.

 

“And yet, here I am. Alive and well and once again united with my _people_.” He smiled when he spoke that word, _people_ , like a lover would smile when meeting their beloved after a too long separation.

 

“You got me out of the Bastille. You got me out of Paris, out of Lyon, out of Marseilles. You protected me from my brother’s henchmen, endangering your own lives to save mine. And that is something I’ll never be able to repay. Your hospitality. Your loyalty. Your love.

 

“Wherever I went, you offered me a warm hearth and a place to sleep, even while I was in the constant company of my dear Minister, who I very well know is feared by many of you.” The king threw a fond look to his side, where the faithful politician stood, his head bowed and a small, secretive smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

 

“I believed myself to be a good king, before my exile. Maybe not as good as my father has been – may God bless his soul – but not completely terrible either. A people-loving king. A just king. A king who listens to his subjects and understands them. Back then, I didn’t realise how wrong I was.

 

“I learned so much about you during those months on the run. I grew closer to many of you, lost some of you, I cried and pledged and begged and praised with you, lived with you. I saw things and heard things and experienced things among you I had never thought about before.

 

“Now I know I have never been closer to you than in those months, where I travelled through France in the hope to escape my brother’s bloodhound Rochefort. Those months changed my life. _You_ changed my life.”

 

He once again waited for the applause to die down.

 

“When I became king of our beautiful country, I wanted only to be remembered for my generosity and kindness, for being a good leader at all times. Like my father was. I wanted to be remembered as _Louis the Just_ or _Louis the Kind_ But most of all, I wanted to be remembered not with fear but with love. I tried so hard to follow my father’s footsteps. Too hard, as I now know. And so I nearly ended like him.

 

“That first day, in the Bastille, I could think only of how I would be remembered as _The King who lost his throne to Gaston_ , my name all but forgotten. And it scared me, deeply. It changed how I thought about my kingdom, my rule, my subjects. How I treated you. How I should have treated you.

 

“I realised that you deserved so much better. Not a boy-king who tried to be like his father but a real king, a ruler, a leader. Something I have never been, something my dear Cardinal always tried to make of me.

 

“With my journey to America, I suddenly had a lot of time at hand to properly think about the future of France. The future of my reign. I finally had the time and leisure to properly focus myself on my neglected lessons of politics and diplomacy. And I was able to study the differences between the American government and our Monarchy’s way to rule.

 

“Within these studies, something – that seems so obvious now yet had never before occurred to me – came to light.” Louis’ voice quietened and he breathed out, very slowly, very controlled. His face was solemn and thoughtful, his stance straight and regal. He looked more like a king than he ever had before.

 

“As long as the power of a country lies solely with her monarchs, there will never be a way to secure it against tyrannical rulers. Rulers like my brother has been.”

 

The king let his gaze sweep over the masses of people and bowed his head.

 

“And I can’t bear the thought that it might only take a few years once I’m gone for you to be oppressed yet again, by another tyrant, another unworthy crown-bearer. I can’t accept that.”

 

When he looked up again, it felt like his eyes pierced every single one of the attendees.

 

“You deserve better than this. You deserve better than to be at the mercy of a man or woman you have never met, at the mercy of someone who doesn’t know you. You deserve better than a ruler who doesn’t understand your problems, your dreams, your beliefs. You deserve to choose who should lead your country, who decides your fate.

 

“And thus I declare the Great Kingdom of France as a Constitutional Monarchy, from this day onward, to be a home to you – _my people_ – as you wish it to be and as you deserve it to be.

 

“This I give to you as a gift in thanks for your loyalty and love, for your unwavering faith and trust in me. It may take some time to strip the nobility of their advantages and rebuild our political system, but this is not the first time we have successfully defended against the usurpers of our lands. And yes, France is _our_ land.

 

“You shall never again suffer under the rule of an unjust and tyrannical king or the hand of a cruel and uncaring duke or lord.

 

“So I ask you now, as you stand before me: Will you accept this gift of mine, to make France a land of her people and a land of freedom, forevermore?”

 

A stunned, nearly deathly silence had fallen over the crowd.

 

Then, a single voice rose, clear as daylight, and started to sing. “ _Vivent nos Princes, Vive, Vive Louis!_ ”

 

Other slowly joined in, raising their voices to form a powerful choir.

 

“ _Dans nos provinces, Aussi bien qu’à Paris. On chérit nos princes, et le bon Roi Louis!_ _Vivent nos Princes, Vive, Vive Louis!_ ”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

When the hymn was about to finish, Louis raised his hands to silence the crowd again. They complied without fuss.

 

“Yet despite the peace we are now able to embrace, we have still spent the past years at war. And like every war there have been great losses and deaths that might have been averted. We have lost loved ones, friends and family, neighbours and colleagues. There are still people missing; buried, maybe, below buildings that have been blown to pieces. They deserve to be remembered.

 

“So I beg you to remember them. Not only the men and women who fought for us but also the men that have died in Gaston’s name. Because in the end, they were still our brothers and our fathers, our husbands and sons. They were still citizens of France. And they deserve to be remembered as such. They fought for their beliefs, like you did. They stayed true to the word they gave, just like you did. They died in honour, like many of you did.

 

“Let us remember them all in a moment of silence. Think of the names that you do know and of those you don’t. Think of them as our saviours, as those who guided us to a New France, to a better France, who made it possible for us to come together here today, as a united country once again. Let us pray for them, together and in the silence of our hearts.”

 

He closed his eyes, his hands falling together in prayer, slowly sinking down to his knees. The thousands and thousands of attendees followed suit, one after the other, like a wave washing over the plaza, the Seine and through the surrounding streets.

 

 

 

For about five minutes, the faint rustling of fabric touched by the soft breeze was the only sound to be heard.

 

Then the king rose again, in an elegant, fluid motion, closely followed by his First Minister. He waited for the people to start rising again, the noise deafening after the previous silence.

 

“But this is not only a time of the dead; this is also a time of heroes!” Louis continued, after the rustling had died down again, his voice powerful, rising along with the crowd, roaring from atop a high mountain.

 

“There have been many glorious battles, and a few of you showed great skill with your quick thinking, spontaneity and great tactical understanding. Without you, there would have been a far greater number of losses and grieving widows. Without you, we might have lost this war.”

 

Louis paused, exhaling a trembling breath. Then he continued, quieter: “Without you, we would not be standing here, today, celebrating our newly regained peace. And I want to thank you for this, personally.

 

“I know that not every one of you, the heroes of this civil war, is here in Paris today to witness our triumph in person, but if you are, I beg of you to step forward when your name is called.”

 

A murmur went through the crowd, names whispered between the attendees.

 

The old and now new king waited for them all to fall silent again, their focus back on the royal.

 

“General Urbain de Maillé-Brézé, who retook and freed the occupied town of Lens in only three days, giving us our first secure haven in Hauts-de-France.” Raucous applause rose while a tall, broad-shouldered man in his mid-forties made his way over from a group of uniform bearers to the Palace.

 

Louis, seeing the crowd’s disturbance, smiled down and continued above the ongoing applause, “General Jean-Baptiste Jourdan, whose skirmishes were able to wear down Gaston’s remaining troops in the north, and disturbed their supply lines.” A few people whistled in approval, while someone in the back of the plaza started to make his way forwards. The shouts followed his way through the crowd.

 

“General Lazare Hoche, who crushed Gaston’s army at Quiberon and Penthièvre with admirable efficiency and nearly no losses on our side, after Brittany had bled for nearly three years in more battles and fights than I dare to count.” A man with fiery, ruthless eyes and thick brown hair stepped forward, already close to the balcony. His eyes were glued to his king with worship and devotion, and upon reaching the stairs he knelt down, waiting for the other Generals to join him.

 

“Charles François Dumouriez, who was a General under Gaston’s banner, yet refused to lay waste to the homes of his fellow Frenchmen and chose to leave the army instead.” For the first time since Louis had started to call the names of the war heroes, the crowd fell silent again, awed and impressed, while an elderly man with a hard, lean face stepped forward, his stance and stride full of stoic pride. Many of the audience tried to touch this man, this apparent enemy who refused to hurt them. Dumouriez didn’t look all too comfortable.

 

“General Henri de Schomberg, who single-handedly planned and carried out the siege of Montpellier with great success. He also led the troops that saved General de Toiras last year and won more than one open battle against Gaston himself during the end of our campaign.”

 

While the applause rose again, Louis added: “But of course, when we name de Schomberg, we also have to call for General de Foix, who disrupted Gaston’s supply lines during the siege of Montpellier, holding the city and fortifications of Carcassonne only with a militia of its citizens. He had de Schomberg’s back when he needed it the most.”

 

De Schomberg, a man with an impressive beard and a hawk-like face, had stopped when de Foix name fell and turned back to the group of soldiers where de Maillé-Brézé had already come from. Another man departed from the group, hobbling slowly towards the waiting General. An armpit crutch replaced his missing left leg, yet everyone could see how cumbersome walking for him seemed to be.

 

When he had reached de Schomberg, the other hero smiled at him and offered his arm as support, earning a grateful look. They continued making their way over to the other already waiting men together.

 

Louis called a few more names, Brigadier General Guillaume Brune who had slowly taken over Paris and isolated the Louvre while Gaston had still used it as his headquarters. François de Bonne de Lesguidières who had successfully led his troops into at least a dozen battles on the open field. Charles de Choiseul-Praslin who retook Troyes from its usurpers. Not everyone answered. Not everyone still lived.

 

But when all of the men that did had finally assembled themselves below the balcony, Louis made his way down the stairs.

 

They positioned another microphone in front of him when he stood before the men every inch the king he had been raised to become since earliest childhood.

 

“Five years ago, before Gaston took my throne and my people away from me, I would have given you a lordship for your services. But I wish for France to move on, to reacquaint itself with the modern world – and in our new France, titles and lands will not grant privilege to anyone anymore. In this new France, nobility is neither better nor worse than the common people.

 

“And thus I – _we_ – will honour your commitment and dedication with a prize money of a hundred thousand francs each and a new order of merits, which I wish to introduce as the highest order of services for France that anyone can achieve – no matter if nobility or common, military or civilian. You, the heroes of this civil war, will be the first to bear the new National Order of the Legion of Honour. Kneel.”

 

And as they knelt, he went to every single one of them, touched their forehead and pinned the order to their chest, just above their heart. A footman following the king handed them all a cheque for the prize money, redeemable at the Bank of the Royal Treasury of France.

 

Before Louis stepped back to the microphone, he said to them all, “I will hold a small feast tonight, to celebrate our victory with a few chosen people who accompanied me these last years and made all this possible. I would very much enjoy seeing you all there.”

 

“We will come, Your Majesty,” de Schomberg answered, bowing his head. The other men followed suit.

 

 

 

A few minutes passed while the bearers of the Legion of Honour made their way back through the audience. Louis stayed where he was, below his balcony and between the stairs. His gaze wandered over the crowd, now not completely but nearly on eye level with him.

 

“Before I close this assembly and let you all go to celebrate our triumph, there are just three more people to whom I owe my special thanks to. Without them, this rebellion would not have been possible. Without them, my flight would have found its early end on a rainy winter night below the stars of Casablanca.”

 

He paused, taking a deep breath, and continued, his voice unwavering: “Without them, I would already be dead.”

 

A smile graced his lips.

 

“I know you all know their names. I heard you calling for them before I stepped out. I waited for them to join us, on this memorable day. And thus I call forward General Athos de la Fère, leader of the army Morocco sent us as help in our campaign.

 

“Even when placed in the difficult and politically compromising situation of having a wanted fugitive of France as a guest in his city, he stood true to his own beliefs, to the hospitality Morocco is known for and refused to simply hand us over to the bloodhound Rochefort. He treated me with honour and respect and the courtesy I was accustomed to in my rank, even when his country demanded neutrality of him. He released in the final moment, knowing fully well that this might mean the end of his career and position.

 

“And now he’s here in France, an army at his back, and he helped us to smash our usurpers’ powers.”

 

Cheers rose, while the handsome young man made his way through the crowd, waving around in greeting.

 

When he reached Louis, he bent down on one knee and curtly bowed his head.

 

“Your Majesty.”

 

 “General de la Fère. I am glad you could make it. It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

 

“No. Thank _you_ for coming to our help when we asked you to even if you didn’t have any obligation to do so. For a long time, I wasn’t sure what I could offer you that would fully express the gratitude I feel for your actions concerning France and myself. But I hope you will find joy in what I finally decided upon as a fitting reward.

 

“I wish to offer you full French citizenship, in addition to the prize money that you deserve as much as any of the other men. But if you would wish to keep your Moroccan citizenship, I would like still to offer you a French citizenship of honour, and passage rights to come and visit us whenever you wish.”

 

A smile tilted the corners of Athos’ mouth and, still softly grinning, he answered. “I’d like that very much.”

 

The Moroccan general rose again, to the applause of the audience, and stepped back, to the first row of watchers.

 

“General Jean Caylar de Toiras, one of the two leaders of the resistance forces here in France and the one who held the connections with the other Generals and resistance leaders that remained true to me before the war started.

 

“I met him in Casablanca, and he gave me back hope that the people would not forget about me. He stepped forward to introduce me to the true royalists that had gathered even outside of France, those who still believed in my success and my return to the throne, even when my heart had already denied me all that which I had labelled as wishful thinking, back then.”

 

The broad-shouldered man followed Athos’ steps and came forward, getting down on one knee.

 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted the royal, voice for once clear and steady.

 

“Toiras. Thank you for coming here today. Thank you for leading the Free French Armies in my absence and in my name. Without you, this war for the throne might never have been able to start. You showed the greatest finesse and tactical understanding throughout these last four years.

 

“And so, my special gift to you, in addition to the prize money, is the title of Marshal of the Armee de Terre, to stand by my side – and the side of the soon-to-be-elected parliament – as councillor of war and military.”

 

Toiras paled, his second knee giving out under him, and he sank down even deeper.

 

“Th-that is too high of an, an honour, Your Majesty,” he stuttered, his eyes wide for surprise and awe.

 

“It is exactly what you deserve if you want to take the position.” Louis smiled winningly, graciously. “I would like to see you by my side as my trusted advisor very much.”

 

“I’ll do my, my best to help you with everything  you n-need, Your Majesty,” the General promised, head finally raised to his liege and full of deep, undulated devotion.

 

“I would expect nothing less of you, Marshal.”

 

Somehow the other man got up again and made his way over to Athos, still terribly pale and out of his depth. A glow was beginning on his cheeks, and there was a gleam in his eyes that promised to grow into a powerful wildfire.

 

“And at last, I want to call forward General Jean Treville, who had been the captain of my Palace Guard until the Medici incident, although I was not aware of it, and whom I met again in his nightclub in Casablanca as the only person able to get us out of the city and onto the plane to continue our journey to America.

 

“I owe this man so much more than just simple thanks. I owe him my life, not once but an uncountable number of times. I owe him my freedom, for he freed me from Rochefort and the prisons of Casablanca. I owe him my heart, for he gave me back the hope that returning to Paris was not just a faraway dream but a real possibility. He pledged his loyalty to me, three times, and not once did he fail me.

 

“And in General Treville, I found someone who didn’t care for my rank or my name but simply treated me the way I needed to be treated for the first time since my father’s death – his behaviour might have neither been fitting nor appropriate nor expected, but honest and true.

 

“And besides these personal achievements, he is also one of the most brilliant strategists I ever had the honour of meeting. He led our troops in this Civil War, side by side with Toiras and de la Fère, proving his inexhaustible knowledge in military matters time and time again. I don’t know where I would be without him. I don’t know where France would be without him. Where _you people_ would be without him. So please, honour this man as one of us and as a saviour of us all.”

 

The applause was deafening while the last hero stepped forward, tall and proud, with a deep, honest smile of delight on his face and blue eyes beaming with happiness.

 

“Your Majesty,” he, too, greeted Louis while sinking on his knee, eyes locked with the king.

 

“Treville,” the young royal offered warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

 

The older man smiled, bowing his head to hide the grin that put wrinkles all around his eyes. “It is good to see you alive and well, too, Your Majesty.”

 

“Treville,” Louis’ gaze turned more serious. “Over the last few years, since our parting that evening in Casablanca, there has only been one thought on my mind whenever I heard about you. I know I can never repay you for what you have done for me, personally and politically, but since that night my wish has always been to call you my friend.” An astounded hush fell over the crowds, while the king got down on his knees, face to face with his saviour, and softly grabbed his hands.

 

“Will you let me call you _my friend Jean_?”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

The crowd was still singing _Le Retour des Princes français à Paris_ when Louis finally stepped back into the Louvre, to his already waiting guardian and companion Richelieu. They had begun singing out of their own free will – _again_ – after the king had closed the gathering with his emotional reunion with Treville and announcing that every first round tonight in every café and club of France would be paid by the Royal Treasury or, more precisely, by the money they had earned from defeating the Grands.

 

“How was I?” he asked, eyes bright with energy and fire.

 

“Amazing.”

 

“Nothing more to say?” Louis answered in a mocking tone, a grin tucking at the corners of his mouth.

 

“No. No one could have done better.” Richelieu smiled, eyes soft, the storm for once calmed.

 

“Not even you?” The king felt an answering smile take over his face and indulged in it, relaxing in the familiarity of his company.

 

“Not even me,” his guardian acknowledged, his smile turning a little wistful.

 

“What’s the matter?” Louis asked, a frown creasing his forehead when he saw his mentor struggling to keep up a cheerful façade. For a stranger, it wouldn’t have been perceptible, but they had spent more than two decades side by side and the last five years being each other’s closest company.

 

By now, the king was able to read Richelieu’s every twitch and move.

 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t let an old man’s foolish thoughts burden your triumph, not today.”

 

“ _Armand_ …”

 

The so emphatically addressed Cardinal gritted his teeth and turned away, head bowed.

 

“Louis, really –”

 

“What if I _want_ to hear your foolish thoughts, _old man_?” Louis insisted, taking Richelieu’s hands in his and rubbing them softly, massaging the pale skin.

 

“It’s just… I spent the better part of my life serving France. Serving _you_. And now… I feel useless. There is nothing left I can teach you. The people love you, you’re an excellent ruler, and you know as much of politics as I do, if not more by now. And now that France isn’t going to be a monarchy for much longer, my use as counsellor to the king and First Minister is gone.

 

“The people will elect young and strong leaders amongst their own kind – as they should. But there is no longer a use for old, conservative, _hated_ representatives of the Church. There is no purpose to me, anymore.”

 

“Armand.” Louis sounded properly devastated. “ _Of course_ there is still purpose to you! I might have held one successful speech, but that does not make me an orator! You of all people should know how _long_ I took to prepare this one. I might be a better king now, after my return, than I was before Gaston exiled me, but I don’t know that for certain! No one does! It’s also entirely possible that I will fail devastatingly during this second chance.

 

“Or maybe the people will think that there is no use for a king _at all_ after we finish making a Constitutional Monarchy out of France. I have never before led this country without you by my side. I don’t _want_ to lead this country without you by my side. I still feel small and stupid half the time when I stand next to you, just listening to you talk.

 

“You’re the wisest, shrewdest, most brilliant man I know and you’re important to me, personally,” he finished finally, the last sentence barely above a whisper. His eyes were dark and filled with emotion, wild and protective, possessive and tenacious. “You are my guardian, my companion, my teacher, my _friend_.

 

“I would be _nothing_ without you. Do you think I don’t know that you basically ran my kingdom because I was too busy hunting and partying? You saved me and saved France more times than I dare count. _You are exceptional_.” Louis squeezed Richelieu’s  by now trembling hands one last time before letting them go. His eyes bore into the swirling greys of Richelieu. The older man stared at his king, his protégé, his friend, mouth opened in a soft o- and silent tears running down his pale cheeks.

 

“Please, do not _ever_ call yourself useless again.”

 

“Louis…”

 

“Promise me, Armand.”

 

“I promise,” Richelieu nodded hoarsely. “I promise.”

 

“Good.” The king placed his hands on Richelieu’s biceps and smiled at him reassuringly, subconsciously massaging the tense muscles. “Will you accompany me to the feast tonight?”

 

The guardian’s answering smile was wobbly. “Do I have a choice?”

 

“I could say no, but you deserve one, so I won’t.” Louis squeezed the arms once then turned away. “But keep in mind that Treville will be there.”

 

Looking back at the slender figure, he raised his brows and joked carefully, “You’re not unsure of him, too, are you? He wasn’t able to come earlier because he still had an army to organise. But I saw his eyes stray away from me in search of you. He kept his promise. And you know I would never do anything to keep you away from each other. I got my happy ending. It’s time you two get yours.”

 

With that, he left the room, and with it the Cardinal, behind.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

The feast really was small in comparison to those Louis had used to hold, back in the days before his brother’s betrayal. There were only at most three dozen people, those present were as astonished at this fact as children seeing snow for the first time.

 

The largest part of the guests was made up by the heroes of the war, the bearers of the Legion of Honour. There were a few nobles who had remained loyal to their king, even though some of them had lost their lands and titles in the process. A handful of commoners Louis had learned to love during the months on the run from Rochefort, poor people, some of them, but true and awed by the glory the Louvres was still able to offer.

 

And at last, of course, the trio of Athos, Toiras and Treville and the lonely figure of Cardinal du Plessis Richelieu.

 

 The guests were acquainting and re-acquainting themselves with each other, trying – and for the most part succeeding – in stifling the prejudices inflicted by their vastly different ranks and backgrounds. For some of the commoners, it was the first time they were confronted with any form of nobility besides the time they spent with Louis. And for some of the nobles, it was the first time they talked face to face with one of the common people.

 

It was entertaining to watch. The careful dance around each other, the curiosity, the wary looks that shifted to expressions of fondness in the blink of an eye. The common interests the people shared. The baffled looks when confronted with the different lifestyles they lived in.

 

Richelieu was alone. Not uncomfortably so, by all means. He was lonely, but at ease, standing in a quiet corner next to the wall and nursing a glass of the finest red he could find.

 

For once, there was nothing more to do for him.

 

He felt like floating. Unbound.

 

He had nothing to worry about, not now. The Cardinal couldn’t remember if there had ever been a time where he had felt similarly. He couldn’t recall. It felt glorious.

 

Louis loved him, more than ever before, in the calm, honest way one keeps for their dearest family. The people loved Louis and his plans for the reformation of the State. The Grands had finally been stripped of their powers, robbed of all their privileges.

 

And so, Richelieu found himself just _being_ and watching the other guests.

 

The king danced from one to the next, greeting them excitedly and all of them equally, no matter who they were or where they came from, chatting with them animatedly and happily. He looked young and free and like he had finally found his way home. It warmed his guardian’s heart, and he couldn’t help the soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth when Louis’ questioning gaze swept over him.

 

The Cardinal was also watching Treville, who was currently talking to Dumouriez. They all seemed to want to speak with him, all the heroes, all the lords, all the commoners. They wanted to congratulate him, to shake his hand, to exchange a war story or two.

 

He had been in constant company since the feast’s start, about two hours ago by now, sometimes even smiling and – which was rarer yet all the more beautiful – laughing.

 

If seeing the old guardsman laugh was the price the politician had to pay to wait for him a little while longer, it was worth it.

 

Richelieu hadn’t yet exchanged more than a handful of words with any of the other guests. If they wanted to come to him, talk with him, they would have to approach _him_ and not the other way round, for once. He didn’t feel the need to test them or their motivations. These people had proved their absolute trust and love and loyalty to the king more than enough. They were the people in this kingdom closest to Louis. No one here would betray their king. Not tonight, nor any other night.

 

While he was dwelling on those thoughts, General de Toiras came over, carrying a similar cup with a dark, ruby-like red. His ebony curls were already interspersed with a few silver strands, giving him a certain lofty demeanour.

 

They stood side by side, quietly nursing their drinks and not looking at each other, neither of them saying a word.

 

After a minute or two, maybe, the tall warrior turned to his lanky counterpart, eyes sparkling.

 

“So. Th-th-this is how we see each other again. Four years ago, I, I wasn’t even sure if you would be able to to make it out of Ca-ca-casablanca alive. Imagine my surprise when I found Treville at, at, at my door before sunlight telling me to pack my bags because we had a revolution to fight. And reporting that you t-two had successfully escaped the n-night before.”

 

Richelieu hid his smile in another small sip.

 

“I think no one expected our successful flight. It probably wouldn’t have worked, if anyone truly had.”

 

“P-probably,” the general agreed. There were another few seconds of silence, before Toiras airily added, so quietly none of the other courtiers would be able to hear, “So, you and Tr-treville? Quite the unusual match you got there.”

 

Richelieu nearly choked on his wine, coughing and gasping for air. Worried, the other man put both their wine cups away and helped the shocked Cardinal to an upright position again.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, obviously embarrassed. “It’s, it’s j-just that I kept wondering, why, why you, why him, after he told me. It was to reinforce and a-affirm our trust in each other, Athos, Treville and me. Tell-telling each other secrets no, no one else knew.

 

“He, he first told us he’s an invert,” Toiras whispered under his breath, his eyes flicking trough the room, assessing the other guests. “Which, which was something both Athos and I already knew. S-s-so he-,so he had to give us a little more. And Athos has already _seen_ you. We won’t t-tell anyone else, though, don’t worry. Just... can you answer the _why_?”

 

Having gotten himself under control again, Richelieu eyed the general warily, before deciding that, yes, he could trust the new Marshal of France. _Treville trusted him with this secret. Treville wouldn’t give them both away so foolishly. If Treville was able to put his life in this man’s hands, so was he._

 

“Because he taught me how to dance.” A thoughtful swirl of the wine, another sip. “I – when you reach a certain position, people stop behaving like their true selves around you. All that they do is an act, a mask they have put on, sometimes just for you.

 

“Treville… Treville had never been anyone other than who he wanted to be. He – he and Louis, they were the only ones who weren’t afraid to call me out on my errors. He watched me, and he took the time to learn enough about me to understand my behaviour. He took the time to learn what drove me, what made me happy, what angered me. And he was there whenever I needed him, no matter if only I myself had realised I was in need of help.

 

“I can only speak for myself of the why. I still don’t know why he chose _me_. But I am grateful for it, more than you might be able to imagine,” he finished quietly, not quite looking at the Marshal by his side, who was gazing at him with a soft, fond expression.

 

“Y-you’re a good man, Cardinal,” Toiras offered, raising his glass to the politician. “And I think I can s-see why Treville has chosen you. Thank you.”

 

With a polite nod, he disappeared in the direction of the buffet, leaving Richelieu to his swirling thoughts and the rich, melancholy voice of Rose Avril.

 

 

 

“Cardinal,” a gruff voice next to him startled him out of his ponderings.

 

“Captain,” he acknowledged the other man, his grip around the cup growing a little stronger. He hadn’t even realised Treville had finally become free, lost in the labyrinth of his head.

 

“It’s General now, as you might have heard.”

 

“I might, yes.” He turned his head to Treville, a fond, secretive smile on his face. “But you’ll always be captain to me. _My_ Captain.”

 

The last two words were barely above a whisper, spoken with a mischievous sparkle in the Cardinal’s eyes.

 

Treville bowed his head to hide the wide grin that spread on his face after Richelieu’s words. They spend the next few minutes in silent companionship, comfortable without exchanging a word and only measuring each other out of the corner of their eyes.

 

When they finally finished assessing each other, Treville remarked: “You look good,” while Richelieu started, at the very same moment: “You’ve grown a beard.”

 

They both stared at each other for a second, stunned into baffled silence, before Treville grumbled, good-willed: “I have grown old, but I’ve always had a beard.”

 

“A moustache is not a beard,” the Cardinal dismissed the Captain’s comment, earning an incredulous stare and a raised eyebrow of his companion.

 

“What would you call it, if not a beard? An _accessory_?”

 

Richelieu opened his mouth, just to close it again with an audible _click_ when no retort came to mind. Treville offered a crooked, winning smile.

 

“Do you like it?” he asked, one hand stroking through the already greying hair.

 

“It suits you,” the Cardinal answered, not looking at the younger man and fixing his eyes on a tile of the marble palace floor.

 

“Are you _blushing_?”

 

“No, I’m _not_ ,” the politician tried to defend himself, blushing even more profusely. When he tried to emphasise that statement with some gesture of his hand, their fingers brushed, and Richelieu jerked away as if burned, eyes wide but suddenly silenced. His lips parted against his will.

 

A tinkling of metal beating against glass saved them from the rapidly growing awkwardness. Louis had climbed on one of the chairs after turning down the music, his glass and a knife in hand.

 

When he was sure he had everybody’s attention, he placed both items back on the table and said: “Thank you all for coming tonight. It has been a real pleasure, being around my own people again, being able to spend time with all of you for the first time in far too long.

 

“But I find myself getting tired and exhausted after today’s events and the long journey. I will retire now, and I will bereave you of the company of Richelieu and Treville, too, for I wish to spend at least a little time with the two men who I feel to be family, by now, more than my brother ever was.

 

“But please stay and enjoy the food, wine and music for a little while longer. Do not feel put off by my early departure. I would hate to find my closest companions in ignorance of each other. If you have any wishes, don’t be afraid to ask for it.”

 

He stepped down from the chair in the soft applause of the attendees and went over to General and Cardinal.

 

“Will you come with me?” he asked them, and together they left the hall, the wine, the music behind them.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Louis led them to one of the royal suites with an astonishing view over the gardens. The grounds were already dipped in the twilight of a warm spring evening when the sun had just disappeared behind the horizon but refused to abandon the world to the darkness of night just yet.

 

While Richelieu still stared outside, watching the dying of the day in all its beauty, Louis draped himself on one of the couches with a content sigh, grabbing the already present bottle of wine to fill three fine goblets with the ruby liquid.

 

“Sit. Drink,” he ordered after taking a first sip, gesturing to the couch next to him. Treville followed suit with no more than a blink, taking one of the glasses in the same motion as sitting down, but the Cardinal still lingered, staring out over the gardens, over the city. It had been a long, long time since he had been presented with this view. He couldn’t tear himself away from it.

 

“Armand”, Louis called for him, voice soft yet demanding. He swirled his wine unconsciously, his eyes searching for those of his First Minister.

 

The shadow of a smile twitched over the hawk-like features, and finally Richelieu made his way over, gracefully sinking down into the soft cushions, next to the General. They were not quite touching, but close. He could feel the warmth seeping from the old guardsman, engulfing him.

 

They remained silent, just drinking the wine and watching the world turn from fire to honey.

 

“This used to be the apartments of Charlotte,” the king finally admitted, his voice pained. “I haven’t been here since before... her death. They have the best view over the gardens. She was always terribly fond of them.” He breathed in, deeply, staring through the enormous windows, the wine forgotten in his hand.

 

Another minute passed without anyone saying a word. This pain, the memories of his late wife, was something Louis had to deal with himself.

 

“I will be required to marry again, won’t I?” he asked, turning away from the darkening world and staring at Richelieu, agony written all over his face.

 

The Cardinal took his time to answer the question.

 

“It would be for the better, yes. France _is_ in need of an heir.”

 

“Aren’t there enough orphans around, now? Couldn’t I just adopt one of them and name him heir to the throne?” Louis sounded exasperated, like he couldn’t even put his heart behind this question, like it was just one last futile attempt before he submitted himself to his destiny. Yet this time, Richelieu’s smile lingered.

 

“ _That_ is something you have to resolve with your soon-to-be-elected government.”

 

“Ha!” Treville barked out in laughter, “Pierre Dupont, King of France!”

 

“That would definitely be something,” Louis agreed, unable to suppress the impish grin that weaselled its way to his face. The melancholy atmosphere was broken. “That boy would at least be a people’s king, being born with common blood. Or I could adopt a dozen kids and decide before I die which one is the most worthy to continue the Bourbon rule. To make sure whoever I choose won’t be spoiled by their sudden new status as Dauphin de France.”

 

“Now, don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll still have to coax the government into agreement. Maybe you should start with the orphaned child of a noble,” Richelieu tried to allay him.

 

“No,” the king immediately disagreed. “If I adopt, I want a child of common blood. I can’t accept an adopted noble as Dauphin. I _won’t_ accept one. I want to show my citizen that all of them are equal, no matter if commoner or of noble blood. They all deserve an equal chance in life, but up until now, nobles have always had the advantage. This has to change.

 

“So far, my whole campaign has revolved around this, equality for all my citizens and the rising of the common people. I will not turn against my own beliefs just to appease one or two families, whose only reason to rise them over the people is an old house and an even older name.

 

“No. These times are over,” he stated with emphasis. “Nobles are like dogs, they readily lap at your feet as soon as you give them the tiniest slice of attention, and wag their tails in submissive agreement. But whenever you turn your back on them, they’ll start to growl and snarl, at each other and at you. And when you fall, they will tear you apart without a second thought. And I am sick of it.”

 

Louis took a sip of wine and stared out of the window. A little quieter, he continued, “Commoners are more like fine horses. If you treat them well, they will reward you with the utmost loyalty, follow you everywhere and do whatever you want, even if it goes completely against their instincts. They have to be carefully steered down to the right road, but they can also manage on their own just fine if you don’t have the time for them.

 

“But if you treat them badly, they will run away and turn against you, they will rebel and throw you off. _They_ are what allows us the wine and cheese on the table each night, _they_ work their asses off so we can keep our luxurious lifestyle. Not the noble dogs. The working horses out there on their farms and workshops. And I have always been fonder of horses than dogs.”

 

Silence fell, the room glowing in dark amber, before Treville finally spoke up. “But still, you need both for a successful hunt.” He smiled into his wine, hiding the broad grin in the ruby liquid. Louis laughed, not very loud but with clear delight.

 

“And I still need a Royal Houndmaster for those yelpers,” he added, “Someone who leads and commands the beasts in my name.” The king locked his gaze onto the Cardinal, eyes full of fondness. “Someone I know I can trust with those predators.”

 

“There are always a few of them that don’t need any persuasion,” Richelieu tried to pass the praise off.

 

“The nobles under the nobles, so to say”, Louis agreed, “but they are few and far between. I will still require your council as my First Minister, Armand. At least until the first elected government will be ready to take up their work.”

 

The royal finished his wine with a last sip and stood up, darkness slowly surrounding them. The two other men followed suit, rising from the soft cushions, glasses placed back on the table.

 

“And Jean,” the king continued, already turning towards the door, “I’d be delighted to have you back as captain of my palace and personal guard. If you wish to retake the position, that is.”

 

“I’d love to,” the General agreed earnestly, bowing before his liege, even if Louis was already reaching for the door handle.

 

“Where are we going, Your Majesty?” the Cardinal asked, still standing by the sofa at Treville’s side.

 

“ _I_ am going to get a bottle of really good Bordeaux and then I will climb to the top of the Louvre and get drunk under the stars of France while watching over my city,” he stated. “And _you two_ are going to stop tip-toeing around each other as you have all evening and properly celebrate your personal reunion. Don’t think I don’t know that you two haven’t even talked once since our departure from Casablanca. I have no idea why you refused to contact each other, but that’s none of my business. Just know that I don’t approve of it. When you join me for breakfast tomorrow, I want this to be resolved, understood? Good. The suite is all yours, then. Have fun.”

 

Louis opened the door and stepped out into the unlit corridor. Before disappearing into the shadows, he turned around one last time, smiling at his two dumbfounded guardians.

 

“If you ever get tired of the court, the politics or me and feel the urge to retire somewhere nice, there is an old fort near Valognes in Normandy, called Ravenoville that used to belong to the crown. The property was given to the Messieurs de Treville and de Richelieu. It should fill your requirements quite well, I’d say.

 

“And, if there ever should be any complications from anyone wants to bother you, please keep in mind that you have the full support of the crown of France. And you can tell them that if you want to. Good night.”

 

The door closed behind the king, leaving Captain and Cardinal in the falling night, speechlessly staring at the place where Louis had stood not even half a minute ago.

 

“I must admit, I expected a lot, but not _that_ ,” Treville commented quietly. Richelieu nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on the door, like he believed it to be a dream too good to be true, like he expected Louis to step in again in a moment and tell them he was just joking.

 

It was only when he felt the guardsman’s calloused hand intertwine with his scholar’s fingers that he broke out of his stupor and tore himself away, eyes locking with his beloved companion. Treville smiled. “Don’t you think we should follow his instructions?”

 

A helpless whimper escaped the great Cardinal, while he squeezed the Captain’s hands, swaying closer to the broad chest that promised _home_ and _warmth_ and _love_.

 

Before their bodies were allowed to melt together, though, the younger man’s hand splayed on Richelieu’s chest stopped him. Their breaths mingled, hot and hungry on each other’s faces.

 

“Just one last thing, Armand,” Treville whispered hoarsely. His other hand entangled itself from Richelieu’s and reached for the pendant around his neck, tearing the leather cord with a determined yank. Carefully, he removed his hand from his counterpart’s chest to pick up the Cardinal’s and let the golden cross drop onto the palm.

 

“This belongs to you,” he said, sounding apologetic.

 

A low sigh escaped the politician while he stared down at the little trinket. When he looked up again, his eyes buried themselves in Treville’s, burning with defiant determination.

 

“It was a gift,” he growled, reaching around the Captain’s neck to tie the cord’s ends together again, the cross laying heavily on the shorter man’s chest.

 

When the Cardinal was finished, he pressed one hand to the pendant, similar to the gesture Treville had stopped him with. Their bodies were touching, heads tilted expectantly and faces only inches apart.

 

“The light of God is mine to give, Jean,” Richelieu stated softly, his eyes fluttering shut. There was radiant warmth all around him, fire wherever they touched. “Just like my heart.”

 

And after years of separation, their lips finally met again, _dancing in the dark_.


End file.
